{"id":3460,"date":"2016-03-20T17:31:29","date_gmt":"2016-03-20T22:31:29","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/askmrsmom.com\/?p=3460"},"modified":"2016-03-21T10:11:33","modified_gmt":"2016-03-21T15:11:33","slug":"spring","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/askmrsmom.com\/?p=3460","title":{"rendered":"Spring"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"robin\"<\/a>I have been \u00a0thinking about a post on spring. \u00a0And the problem is, it’s hard to muse on spring without sounding trite. The mounds of crusty, black snow have melted. The air feels a bit fresher. The sound of birds chirping wafts in morning breezes. (Insert visions of the bluebirds\u00a0tying\u00a0ribbons in\u00a0Cinderella’s\u00a0hair here. Darting in and out of her open window. \u00a0Sheer white curtains dancing in the wind.)<\/p>\n

Daffodils and crocuses are popping though damp, brown earth. The hope of grass and the\u00a0smell of green and summer is in the air.<\/p>\n

I saw my first robin a few weeks ago. \u00a0I asked her if she was my mother. No kidding. \u00a0I did. \u00a0I have been looking for mom in nature. She loved it so and I have had the hardest time finding or feeling her since her death. \u00a0My dad was much easier. \u00a0I could smell the scent of his Old Spice, the comfort of his hand on my knee on a turbulent plane flight. \u00a0I could hear his words of counsel when I was confused or longing or lonely. \u00a0He’s been with me these past ten years.<\/p>\n

But mom just looked out that\u00a0nursing\u00a0home window and closed her eyes\u00a0and poof! \u00a0She was gone. It’s the strangest thing.\u00a0But not really. \u00a0Mom always was more ethereal. Whimsical and unpredictable. Almost childlike in her ability to conjure up magic in a moment. Dreamy. And a bit elusive. \u00a0Dad on the other hand was solid. Given to rituals. Clocklike in his\u00a0predictability.<\/p>\n

With the anniversary of her death a couple weeks away, I have a feeling this spring she will appear. \u00a0Unexpected, I will feel or see her. In something she loved or felt or shared. \u00a0A cup of tea. \u00a0A moss-covered rock. I remember once, as a child, we had a field mouse in our house and instead of setting a mouse trap,\u00a0she\u00a0drew a\u00a0picture\u00a0of a tiny door on\u00a0the\u00a0baseboard\u00a0of my room\u00a0and\u00a0told me bedtime stories of the adventures of Mr. Mouse and his family and their secret life inside the walls of our home. \u00a0Dad would have had a broom or a\u00a0shovel after that rodent faster than mom could have said “Once upon a time,” but for weeks, it\u00a0seemed, our little friend lived under my closet door.<\/p>\n

And my imagination soared higher with each new tale of\u00a0his\u00a0adventures.<\/p>\n

So perhaps mom has been busy whispering her angel magic into the ears of little ones everywhere. Telling them they will be OK after a tumble. \u00a0Loving them after a bully calls them “stupid” or just holding them close when they are afraid.<\/p>\n

That was her strength. \u00a0That is what made her special. \u00a0Her ability to love openly and unashamed in a fearless, endearing way. And I’m thinking, that is who she has been busy with as she finds her way to whatever world her spirit will settle in.<\/p>\n

Or more like mom, she will stay in the wind. In rebirth. In joy. In unguarded laughter and chance meetings, coincidences that aren’t really. Things that happen that we are too busy to stop and notice.<\/p>\n

Things we miss if we are not listening to the rustle in the grass. The whispers in the wind.<\/p>\n

But I am going to try to stop. \u00a0Or at least slow down. \u00a0And notice.<\/p>\n

And to be as sappy as a Hallmark card writer on Mother’s Day, I’ll remember the words to the Cinderella’s song she sang to her birds as they chirped and fawned and made her bed and tied her bows:<\/p>\n

“A dream is a wish your heart makes. \u00a0When it’s fast asleep…No matter how your heart is grieving if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish for comes true.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I have been \u00a0thinking about a post on spring. \u00a0And the problem is, it’s hard to muse on spring without sounding trite. The mounds of crusty, black snow have melted. The air feels a bit fresher. The sound of birds chirping wafts in morning breezes. (Insert visions of the bluebirds\u00a0tying\u00a0ribbons in\u00a0Cinderella’s\u00a0hair here. Darting in and …<\/p>\n

>>Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3460","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\nSpring - askmsmom.com<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/askmrsmom.com\/?p=3460\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Spring - askmsmom.com\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"I have been \u00a0thinking about a post on spring. \u00a0And the problem is, it’s hard to muse on spring without sounding trite. The mounds of crusty, black snow have melted. The air feels a bit fresher. 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